Covers of a Book
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Desmond isn't as dumb as he acts. Perhaps the friend he meets in Monteriggioni will change the other assassins' views-despite Desmond's protests.
1. Chapter 1

Desmond lay on top of Monteriggioni, twirling a pencil between his fingers as he gazed at the stars. He wanted a book other than some history text to read, other than some Renaissance mumbo-jumbo. The stories of the stars ran through his head, and he whispered them aloud, connecting the stars in miscellaneous patterns. There was a notebook on his stomach, filled with ideas and designs and improvements.

"Who are you?"

He looked to see a skinny, curly redhead climbing up onto his perch. The boy was scowling.

"This is my house."

"Actually," Desmond began, "this is no one's house."

"No, it's my house. I've made a bed inside. Who the fuck are you?"

Desmond raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. This boy was so familiar. "Desmond Miles."

The boy gave him a thorough once over and then climbed to sit beside him. "Why are you here?"

"Isn't it customary to give—"

"Emiliano."

"Last name?"

"Don't have one, gotta problem with it?"

Desmond grinned. "Not at all."

"What the Hell are you smiling about? There's nothing worth smiling about on this planet."

He laughed. "You ever hear of Leonardo da Vinci and his assistant, Salai?"

The boy scowled. "No. Why? Well, I've heard of Leonardo da Vinci, but I've been on my own for most of my life."

He shook his head. "He had an assistant with a personality a lot like you."

"How do you know?"

"I met him."

"You met him," the boy deadpanned. "Right."

"No, here, let me show you." He sat up and flipped open the notebook to a picture of the Animus.

"What, a chair? Congratulations. You can draw."

He laughed again. "No, no. This is called the Animus. It lets you see your ancestors' memories."

"Mm-hm."

Desmond was falling in love with this child. He'd never admit to the others, but he loved Salai for his attitude and the shit-stirrer he was. He followed those memories closer because he wanted to adopt the boy, and he was never happier when Ezio took him into the Brotherhood to teach him some discipline, and it failed spectacularly because the boy was just as efficient with taking a life as he was with taking a purse (or a thief's money gambling). Not to mention, the hideout was clean, and the uniforms designed better.

"You know: I bet that would look cooler and be softer on your back if you made it with cotton instead of leather. I know where you can get some cheap here."

He snapped from his trance.

"And if the chair black, like it's drawn, you could make it look even better with a red cotton cover. You'd need firmer stuffing though, but that's easy to get."

"It's white."

"Who the Hell paints a chair white? That went out with the new decade. You should paint it black, and get red cotton to cover it, then stuff it to the brim. It'd be easier on the back."

"You don't even know how it works."

"Why do I care? It looks terrible. Whoever designed it has no sense of fashion."

"We don't have the chance. People are always looking for us."

Emiliano gave him a glance telling him he was stupid. "If it's those people who seem to think they're hot shit, I should rat you out. They keep disturbing me about those stupid cables running all over the place."

Desmond's eyes grew wide, and the boy smirked.

"Don't worry. I won't as long as you tell me what's going on and get me some food. They're stupid. I told them the cables run below ground through the passage because it cut expenses. They believed me well enough. Asked what was down there with the cables, and I told them the sewers, showed them my house. MY house. They were pleased enough with the explanation—they, strangely enough, didn't want a tour of the centuries old sewage."

Desmond raised an eyebrow.

"Who better to trust than an orphan? They gave me food, warm blankets, and new clothes in exchange for bullshit. I acted excited enough about the things they gave me that they thought I was just another stupid kid who could be bought."

Desmond grinned. "You're incredible."

The boy looked shocked, then smirked. "Of course. The old man that was with them didn't realize I stole his wallet. I bought myself a beautiful pillow with the money inside. And several nice meals. Of course, if you tell him, I will kill you."

He raised an eyebrow at the boy. "I think—"

"That a syringe full of tansy poison will kill you fast enough."

Desmond was impressed. "And you live alone?"

"My parents ditched me."

"You could come live with us in the Sanctuary."

A sly grin crossed Emiliano's features. "Could I try your Animus thingy?"

Desmond raised an eyebrow.

"Because, you know, they did give me their number and tell me to call them if I spotted anything suspicious."

Desmond scowled.

"And perhaps a good meal would be nice."

Desmond weighed the options, then smirked: this boy would be the perfect way to make him look even stupider in the others' eyes, and the stupider he looked, the more he could get away with.

"Tell me what all those scribbles are."

The assassin grinned and wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders. "I'll tell you what: you come live with us, and I'll let you try the Animus, give you a warm meal, and teach you to read."

"Really? Wait—how did you know I cannot read?"

"I told you: Leonardo had an apprentice just like you, and so I took a venture and guessed, since you weren't reading what I wrote on the side of the drawings."

The boy blushed and scowled. "Fine. Tell me what this says."

Emiliano scooted in close as Desmond explained the Animus and how it worked, the upgrades he thought would make it better, and the mathematics and science behind it. The kid listened closely, and the assassin briefly thought about that being the difference between Salai and Emiliano. Finally, as the moon was setting, Desmond closed the notebook and rose.

The boy would be perfect for them—a lying, conniving, scheming little bastard who had already sent Abstergo away from here, and could do it again. He could go out for menial things they needed in the daylight (and with his girly complexion, feminine items for Lucy and Rebecca instead of Shaun fetching them) and still be fine. He knew the people, he knew all the hideouts—undoubtedly things had changed since Mario and Ezio lived here. He was perfect for them.

"Well, are you coming?"

The boy looked surprised. "You were serious?"

"Of course. I never go back on my word. Tell me: can you speak English?"

"A little. I understand more English then I speak."

He pursed his lips, then shrugged and grinned. "Come on. Let's get your things and—"

He watched as the boy disappeared through a cannonball hole. "Come on, slowpoke!"

He walked over and peeked into the hole to see bright green eyes, and he frowned. "I'm not nearly as small as you."

He watched as the boy pulled away the edges of the house, and he slipped in to find himself in Ezio's room. All kinds of ghosts danced around in his room—Caterina, his sister, Ezio himself. His paintings—his paintings—were lounging around, worn with time but none the less recognizable, and his sword, his armor. All of it was carefully placed around the room, and it all looked well cared for.

"A lot of this stuff was buried underneath rubble. Legend has it this place was once attacked by some douche who thought he could rule the world."

He let his fingers touch the cloth that held the armor together, and he exhaled shakily.

"It looks like it'll fit you. Why not try it on?"

Desmond looked to Emiliano, who was sitting in a nest of pillows and blankets, the quickly stripped and put on the armor, testing it, moving in it. It was unbearably familiar.

"There's a bunch of swords and knives buried underneath the rubble in another room, but I'm not strong enough to move all the rubble. I remade the cloth from silk since that's what it would've been, and the leather—my God, had this man never heard of fashion? Horribly out of style, but there was a stack of papers buried near the wall outside that leads to the Sanctuary, and I managed to see a rough outline."

Desmond shook his head. "You have no idea what you have here, do you?"

Emiliano raised an eyebrow. "Money, why? I can't sell it till I get the other weapons out."

"You have my ancestors' armor. From eleven hundreds."

The boy's eyebrow raised disbelievingly, then it morphed into something contemplative, then into something wicked. "I'm going to be rich, aren't I?"

"Don't sell it. Please."

"What will you give me in return?"

Desmond tried to think of something, opening and closing mouth like a fish. If Emiliano was anything like Salai, he wouldn't be bought by anything except something worth more than what he had. His brow knitted together, and he thought, hard. Ezio materialized, his arms crossed, and the boy snarled as Desmond stepped back.

"Go away, you fucking ghost! Who do you think you are? This is my shit, not yours, and I'm going to milk it for every penny its worth!"

Inspiration struck him like a hammer as he stared at the ghost, and he turned to the boy. "Emilano, it may be worth a fortune right now, but just imagine if you wait until after we're done digging through my ancestor's memories of the Renaissance, and they get released, just imagine how much the value will spike. You could become a millionaire by selling just the armor."

Emiliano's lips pursed, and he eyed Desmond critically. Desmond watched in his peripheral vision as the ghost beckoned him down the stairs. The silence stretched between the two as he looked at the paintings. The armor felt comforting against his skin.

"Fine. You have a deal, but you have to help me dig out the other weapons, or I'll rat on you."

"Deal. Let's take… You know what? It's be better if we didn't take this back to the others. We'll leave this here. All of it except a few of your pillows and blankets, so you've got something here in case Abstergo comes back."

Emiliano watched him strip, setting the armor back carefully.

"Ready?"

He waited as the redhead picked out three blankets and a pillow. "I guess. Promise we'll dig everything up?"

"Promise."

"And I get to try the Animus?"

"Promise."

"And I get a meal?"

"Of course. I'd feel bad if you didn't get one. You're so skinny."

The boy followed him quietly down into the Sanctuary, where his eyes grew wide.

"Desmond, what the Hell do you think you're doing?"

"He gets me a good meal, you stupid ass."

Desmond laughed at Shaun's shocked expression and said, "You certainly know your insults well."

"It's the first thing anyone learns in a foreign language."

"Fair enough, fair enough."

"English, please?" Shaun asked, holding his hands out and giving them an expectant stare. "Look, Desmond, I know you're not all here, but please, don't go recruiting people. This is not the Renaissance. You are Desmond, not Ezio."

"And you are stupid," Emiliano said. "Be quiet. We talk—you quiet."

Shaun drew himself up. "You belligerent little—"

Desmond laughed when Emiliano plugged his ears and gave him an "I'm not listening" look.

"Remind you of anyone?" Desmond said.

"Yes," Shaun growled, "and I'm reminded of the millions of different ways to murder someone."

Emiliano unplugged his ears and started walking around, looking at everything.

"You seriously thought bringing him here was a good idea? How much stupider can you get, you Neanderthal?"

"Look, Shaun, the kid lives in Ezio's old room; he knows the layout of Monteriggioni; he's all ready sent Abstergo packing once; he's been digging out artifacts—why shouldn't we keep him? He's an orphan. He needs a place to stay, and he can go out in daylight when we can't."

Shaun pursed his lips, watching as Emiliano touched the statue of Altair, then hissed, "Fine. But I'm not defending you against Lucy."

"That's cool, man. I don't need you to."

He walked over to where Emiliano was. He was peeking into the passage that led to the sewers.

"So this is where they lead out to."

Desmond nodded. "Wanna see the Animus?"

The boy straightened and spun around. "Of course!"

Desmond led him over to the giant chair, and Emiliano raised an eyebrow. "Surely that is uncomfortable."

"Well, yeah, but we don't exactly have—"

"I will make it more comfortable for you. Why do you let that English pig-dog talk to you as if you were stupid?"

Desmond grinned. "It's easier the more people think you're an idiot. You get away with things 'intelligent' person couldn't."

Emiliano smirked. "Can I try the Animus?"

Desmond shrugged. "I'd say yes, but I think we should wait until the girls get back."

"Tell me they're nicer than him." Emiliano pointed at Shaun, who caught the gesture and frowned.

He laughed, causing Shaun to scowl. "Yeah, they're nicer than him, but he's a good guy for our team."

"How? Because he is so cruel?"

"Because he remembers how unpleasant reality is for us."

Emiliano scowled. "He should not need to do that." The boy plopped down in the chair. "This is hideously uncomfortable. Surely your back hurts, no? You need to get more cotton to stuff into the chair. This is ridiculous."

Desmond laughed, sitting in Rebecca's chair. "Well, let me catch you up to date."

He spent the next few hours telling him everything that had happened, and the boy listened with interest, reclining in the Animus and watching him with a disbelieving look. Shortly after he finished, he noticed that Emiliano's eyes were drooping, and he kept talking until the kid had fallen asleep—despite Emiliano's best attempts to stay awake to hear everything he had to say. Perhaps their biggest difference was the boy's willingness to learn. Desmond moved him to his sleeping bag and watched the grungy boy nestle onto the bag. He smiled, whirling around when he heard Lucy come in.

"Lucy," Shaun began, "you'll never believe who Desmond met tonight."

"Tell me it wasn't…"

She trailed off as her eyes moved from Desmond to Emiliano.

"His name is Emiliano."

"And yes, he behaves just like his namesake," Shaun said dryly.

"Desmond!" Lucy said, rubbing her eyes, frustrated.

Rebecca came bounding in beside her, carrying to grocery bags. "Sorry, had to fix a cord up there. What'd I miss?"

"Desmond here thinks it's okay to go around recruiting people like his dead ancestors."

"Nice. Who'd ya pick up?"

Desmond gestured to the sleeping bundle. "He's an orphan, living in Ezio's old room. I figured the least I could do was give him a place to sleep. He deflected Vidic and the others for us once all ready."

Lucy looked shocked. "Are you serious?"

"As serious as I can get. He's got their number, apparently."

"He threatened to rat you out if you didn't bring him down here," Rebecca said with a sly grin.

Desmond flushed. "Well, maybe a little."

"Desmond!" Lucy exclaimed. "What if he's a spy! He could just be lying to get in here!"

Desmond shuffled his feet. "I think we should plug him in."

"And why is that? Desmond, we don't have—"

"Just listen, okay?" he said, looking at her. "I've been following Ezio's older memories, right? Right, well, in them, Ezio was often corresponding with Salai."

"Why would Ezio correspond with that tit's ancestor?"

Desmond gave him a look as if he had just grown another head. "He was his best assassin."

"Right," Shaun scoffed, turning back around, "assassin."

"And why on earth do you think Salai is related to the kid you brought in?" Lucy hissed.

"He's an exact bloody replica. Even down to the irritating, belligerent attitude," Shaun snarled. "I'll wring his neck."

Lucy sighed, rubbing a hand across her eyes. "Desmond…"

"Lucy, please? He can do all the errand running in broad daylight for you. The Templars are gone because of him."

"Fine, fine. I'm just going to go to bed right now and think this over. You'd better damn well not have made a mistake."

Desmond smiled and sat on his sleeping bag. "Awesome. You'll see."

He wrapped the blanket around him and the boy and closed his eyes. When Desmond woke, he stretched and sat up to see Emiliano sitting on the Animus eating an orange, the peelings scattered around the floor at his feet. The other three were still asleep. Emiliano smiled at him.

"Come with me."

The boy hopped down and walked up the ramp. Desmond rose, grabbing his backpack and following along as he led him out to Mario's office. He plodded along as they walked out to the courtyard and around the side of the house. Emiliano handed him part of the orange and started climbing after eating the rest. Desmond practically inhaled the other half of fruit.

Desmond followed him back to Ezio's room and to the hole where the ladder used to be. The boy jumped down, landing with a roll and looking up expectantly. He jumped, and startled when he saw Ezio standing at the end of the hallway. He had a sad, expectant look about him, as if he were waiting for something to happen.

"You see him too?"

"Huh?" He looked up to see Emiliano staring at him.

"You see the ghost? He's been here forever. He helped me find the armor. He always looks that serious and sad."

"Emiliano… that's the ancestor I told you about yesterday."

"Ezio? Really? No wonder he looks sad. So… this is his house?"

"Yeah."

"And that Caesar salad man really did destroy it?"

"Cesare, but yeah."

Emiliano pursed his lips. "Oops. I've been really mean to him. Oh well. He's still annoying, and I wish he'd leave me alone. Shoo!"

Ezio cocked an eyebrow, a hint of an amused smile on his lips before he looked to Desmond and shook his head disbelievingly.

"I know, right? He's just like him!"

Ezio smirked and ran off, jumping down another hole in the wall. Emiliano scowled. "I hate him. He's so stupid. Come on. We're going through that hole."

When he leapt through the hole, he inhaled sharply at where he was. The foyer of Monteriggioni was still largely intact. He looked down when he felt a hand slip into his, and he smiled softly as Emiliano let him look around, holding his hand. He wondered just how much contact this boy had had with other people. Twelve-year-olds didn't enjoy holding hands, from what he remembered. He followed when Emiliano pulled him into the room where Ezio had stored his weapons. Most of the ceiling had collapsed, and he was surprised to see the ghost standing by one of the piles of rubble.

"He always stands there. There's something under there he wants, I'm sure of it, but I'm not strong enough to lift that stone."

Emiliano kept his hand linked with Desmond's as they walked slowly to the large stone mess. There was a large slab of rock across it, fallen from the brutal attack all those years ago. The boy was looking at him expectantly, and so was Ezio.

"I can't lift this either. It's too big."

Emiliano deflated, and Ezio quirked an eyebrow and folded his arms, clearly not taking that for an answer, glancing to the other array of items around the room. Desmond started thinking. There really wasn't much beside a few old ropes and lots of stone. It hit him: he could move those stones.

"Wait here, Emiliano. I'll make something to move it."

Emiliano looked at him as if he had claimed the world was ending as he started picking through the rubble, digging out the Sultan's knife and the mace, as well as several ropes and a couple strips of cloth. After a few minutes, he had it all rigged to the stone, ready to move.

"I feel like MacGyver," he murmured as he wrapped the fragile ropes across his chest and began to pull. The stone slid away slowly as he pulled, and Emiliano looked at him, amazed.

"Incredible! How did you do that?"

Desmond grunted as he pulled the stone. Whatever stone they had used, it was the heaviest fucking thing they could've found. It wasn't just a harness he had made, Desmond thought: the metal played an important part in helping it move. He just hoped he hadn't ruined any of it. Finally, it was pulled off, and Desmond was panting and sweating like a pig, falling to his knees and gasping. Emiliano tackled in him a hug, and he couldn't help but chuckle. The boy squirmed out and began moving some of the smaller stones from the pile.

"Go away, you stupid ghost!" he shouted, waving his hands in the misty figure as Desmond lay there. "It's my treasure!"

Ezio scowled and went to cuff the boy over the head, but Emiliano ducked and scowled.

"Leave me alone! This is mine, asshole! You're dead by, like, a million years or something!"

He dug through the rest of the debris, and Desmond watched him as he pulled out the Captain's sword and several others. The boy's eyes grew wide after he pulled out the others, and a greedy grin began to grow across his face.

"Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus." He shoved rubble out of the way and picked up a dented sword. "A little heat, and this sucker will be—Hey!"

Desmond had the sword in his hands. "Emiliano! This—you…" He looked at the kid helplessly. "Please, let me keep this? I can give you the cape of the Medici family and the sword of Ezio's uncle Mario—and the record book of his sister! Please!"

Emiliano was smirking as Ezio hovered near, letting his hand run over the metal of the blade.

"Really?"

"Really. Emiliano, this was the blade of Altair. And Ezio's once he got the armor. Please, I need to keep this."

Ezio placed a hand on his shoulder, and he stared into the translucent eyes of his ancestor.

"I know, Ezio. I know. And I'll bargain for the armor, too. I promise. Geez. I never thought I'd hold this again."

Ezio smiled as Desmond began swinging it. It felt so familiar to him, and even though it was dented, it felt wonderful. Ezio watched him closely, examining him as he moved across the stone piles, reveling in just the weight of the blade. Once he was done, he looked at Emiliano, who looked contemplative.

"If it's really as old as you say, I don't see why I should let you have it. I could make a fortune."

Desmond frowned, holding it close. He could saw Ezio stand between him and the boy, and Emiliano shrunk back a step.

"Why shouldn't I sell it? I could, I dunno, actually have a meal for once!"

"Please, Emiliano. This means more to me than it will some stupid collector. Please."

Emiliano scowled, staring through Ezio at Desmond. He almost felt bad asking the boy for the sword, but he desperately wanted it, and—in all honesty—he couldn't care less about the other artifacts he had found in the villa. The boy's lips pulled taut, and he seemed to be examining him. Desmond closed his eyes briefly, sending a prayer to whatever deity was up there to let him keep the sword.

"I've got the other weapons, I guess."

Desmond blinked, smiled, and walked over to the boy, scooping him up in a bear hug. "Thank you."

"If you let me keep it for a bit, I'll straighten it out when I go to the blacksmith here."

"What?"

Emiliano struggled, worming free and gathering the weapons. "Yeah. It's more, like, commemorative than anything, and in all honesty, it was started three generations ago so that the owner could keep his son busy."

Desmond laughed.

"I can use it occasionally. I'm friends with the kid there now."

"How old are you?"

"Twelve."

Desmond raised an eyebrow. "Wow."

"I've lived on the streets for four years now. Those men that came here killed my parents. It's not the first time they've heckled us. I started poisoning them from the shadows. They think the water lines here are poisoned because of the sewage here. I just put tansy juice in it."

Desmond frowned. "Shit. I ran away at sixteen. I don't think I could've made it on my own at eight."

Emiliano offered a shrug. "It's okay. I'm strong—pure Italian blood!"

Desmond laughed and ruffled his hair, causing him to sputter and scowl. They made their way carefully back to Ezio's room, and as Emiliano began to set out the weapons, he murmured, "You can have the armor, too, if you want."

Desmond was just as shocked as Ezio looked. "Here. How about in return for that, I'll build a rack for the weapons while you plug into the Animus?"

"How? There's nothing to build—"

He flashed a charming grin. "Leave that to me."

Emiliano quirked a brow and turned to shoo Ezio away again as he drew too close to the armor. "I said Desmond could have it! Not you! You're dead! Got it? Go away!"

Desmond clutched the sword tightly. "I won't let him take it. It's not like he could carry it off anyway."

Emiliano scowled. "That's where you're wrong. This is not your ordinary ghost. He's fucking scary when he wants to be …"

Desmond raised an eyebrow at the ghost, who seemed to be looking out the window. It faced the well. Setting the sword down, he said, "Well, we should get back. Lucy's probably having a hissy fit."


	2. Chapter 2

And she was. She lectured Desmond for the better part of an hour about how he should be more responsible, and how he was a wanted man, and how even though he may have an ally, it didn't mean he could do whatever he wanted. Emiliano wandered around behind her, and Desmond found himself watching the boy more than the three irate assassins in front of him. Emiliano picked up a black marker and drew a large French mustache on the "valued" portrait of Lorenzo di Medici and gave him a goatee, a scar over his eye, and proceeded to doodle over all the other pictures, drawing dying stick horses in the streets of Rome, and flying chickens pooping on unfortunate citizens in Venice. In Florence, people were slapping one another with fish. He switched out Rebecca's and Lucy's chairs and drank half of Rebecca's coffee—then ate Lucy's breakfast sandwich.

Desmond wondered briefly if this boy was actually the descendent of La Volpe.

He ruffled through the papers on Lucy's desk and purposefully rearranged them. He hid a binder or two behind various objects (and one on top of one of the statues. The fucking monkey). He ended with a loud, attention-calling yawn as he settled into the Animus. They turned and looked, and it took every ounce of will power Desmond had not to laugh when Shaun freaked out, or when Lucy screamed because her sandwich was gone and her papers messed up. Emiliano lounged on the Animus like a king, and Rebecca laughed.

"How you pull this over on us?"

Desmond translated.

"It is the art of a thief, no?"

"That's wicked, man. I'm gonna need more coffee though. And my chair back."

Desmond plodded over to Emiliano and sat on the end of the Animus. "Nice job."

"Thank you."

They sat, watching the others scrabble around to right everything ("How the Hell did my binder get up there?" Lucy screeched at one point, clearly at her breaking point). When things were finally done, Rebecca had joined them two cups of coffee, one for her and one for Emiliano, who thanked her.

"Why do you let them treat you like shit?" he asked after a little bit.

Desmond looked at him. "It's okay. I don't really mind it. Keeps them from making me actually do anything."

Emiliano shrugged. "Sounds like a deal."

"That's what I thought."

"Okay, Desmond," he looked when Lucy spoke, "enough distraction. Let's plug you in."

"I think we should plug in Emiliano."

"No, you're not going out anymore in daylight. Lie down." Emiliano yawned and stretched out, earning a glare from Lucy. "Tell him to get off."

Desmond told him to, and bit his lip at the response.

"What'd he say?"

"No."

"What'd he really say?"

"No, you narrow-minded witch from Satan's darkest bowels."

Her eyes grew wide. "You tell that—"

She hissed when Emiliano plugged his ears and said something.

"He also said he won't listen to you or that pig-headed, lily-livered English dog."

"See what I mean, Lucy?" Shaun said, irritated. "The boy is unbearable! I say we shoot him right now and throw the body into sewers!"

"I'm tempted to, but we can't just get rid of him."

Emiliano yawned loudly, slipping a hand under his shirt to itch his stomach, and Desmond's jaw dropped.

"What happened?"

"I fell," Emiliano said simply. "And I landed on my hip."

He tugged his shirt back down.

"Desmond," Lucy said, "ask him if there's anything he can do."

"Emiliano, why don't you go straighten out the sword? Would you do that for me?"

Emiliano perked up and smiled. "Sure! I can do that!"

He was halfway up the ramp.

"Emiliano!"

He fished out some coin from Lucy's desk. "H-hey! Wait!"

He gave it to the boy. "Buy some candy, too." He winked. "And make sure you share it with me and Rebecca."

Emiliano grinned. "Sure!"

Desmond watched him disappear, and turned to Lucy. "There. He's gone."

Lucy was frowning. "Desmond, our funds are limited. You can't just give him money."

"He's probably going to spend it on himself, knowing Salai's habits," Shaun hissed.

"I have a feeling he won't," Desmond murmured. "He's not quite the same."

"Well, he certainly has no qualms about stealing food and being an asshole."

He lay down on the Animus, offering out his arm. "I told him to go buy some candy for us."

"Why would you tell him to purchase something that's such a waste of money!" Lucy shrieked.

Rebecca pulled the visor down, grinning. "I'll look forward to it."

His eyes fluttered closed, and he faded into the memory. Twelve hours later, he pulled out of it, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

"Congratulations, tit," Shaun snapped, "that damn boy hasn't returned."

"He'll be back."

"Sure thing."

"We cooked you dinner," Lucy grumbled.

He was halfway through the food before there was a loud clanking sound and someone cursing. He looked up at the entrance to see Emiliano carrying the armor and the sword—and a small bag. There were streaks down his face from where the sweat had dripped, and Desmond couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. The others watched as he carried the things over to him and set them down. His hair was pulled back into the similar bun he had seen when Salai had gone into a cleaning frenzy as he handed him the armor.

"Put it on."

Desmond blinked, then set his dish aside and started putting it on. Emiliano helped him with the clothes and the armor, and then the boy attached the sword sheath, a dagger, and held out his hand for Desmond's, wrangling the metal cestus onto his hand. After he finished, he stepped back and placed his hands on his hips. Then, he waved a hand.

"Move. Let me see if it works. Draw your sword and move."

Desmond started stretching in the armor. Wearing it felt so familiar, and he twisted in his spot under Emiliano's careful eye.

"The arms are too tight around the shoulder and armpit. I will have to take them out. And your sleeves are too long. I will take them up. Ugh, and look at those tails. They are hideously dirty. I didn't know how dirty they had gotten until you tried it on. I will have to polish the armor, too."

Desmond laughed. "It feels fine."

Emiliano frowned. "Are you sure? I am afraid the shoulders and armpits are too tight."

He grinned. "Come here: let me start teaching you while I wear it. The longer I wear it, the more uncomfortable it'll become if it's really too tight."

"Hey, Lucy," he looked to Rebecca. "I'm getting wonky signals from the Animus. Something's up."

They jumped when the cover on the panel to the inside of the Animus went whizzing by Rebecca's ear, narrowly missing Lucy's side. Sparks flew from the open area, and Emiliano stepped against Desmond.

"Bloody Hell!"

"What's going on!"

"It's him. The ghost is back," he murmured, and the assassin could feel the boy trembling as he watched the sparks fly.

The entire thing flicked on, glowing. The screen glowed bright, and kept getting brighter until the entire thing went dead. The wires flopped like wet noodles, and Desmond had the sword in his hand, the other arm wrapped around the boy. A misty image began to appear next to the open panel, and Desmond's eyes grew wide.

Ezio appeared, scowling, and the entire room was silent. He was fuming over something, and Desmond pushed Emiliano behind him, glaring at his ancestor as he stood there. Ezio's head snapped toward him, and he curled his lip, feeling protective of the boy as they held their stare off. After a few minutes, Ezio scoffed and faded.

"W-what the Hell was that?"

"I do believe we are being haunted by the ghost of Desmond's ancestor. Thank you, Desmond, for getting us in even deeper shit than we were before. Just can't help but make things into even bigger messes, hm?"

Desmond snarled. "Shut up, Shaun."

Rebecca sighed. "Man, now I have to fix Baby. We'll be out for a month. It looks as if he did a number on her!"

"Rebecca," Shaun deadpanned, "not that I don't trust your incredible skills, but don't you have to actually be near the damage to assess it?"

Rebecca scowled from her spot on the other side of the room. "Usually, but I'm that damn good."

Lucy cleared her throat. "Guys, stop it, okay? I will admit, knowing there's a ghost—"

"He won't harm you. He never hurts a person."

"What?"

Desmond looked over his shoulder to Emiliano, who had spoken. Emiliano looked at him. "He does not hurt people, but he gets upset when people defile his things."

Desmond raised an eyebrow, but told the others, and they gave him an odd stare. "Emiliano, they don't get what you mean."

"He's frightened off teenagers before with spray paint, and I think he's mad you're using the Sanctuary like this."

"We haven't abused it at all. He never appeared to us before."

"That's because he was always following me. He doesn't like being ignored."

Desmond scoffed. "Yeah, I'll agree to that. But that still doesn't explain—"

Emiliano had pursed his lips and looked deep in thought, then, "Perhaps it has to do with that old well, or the sewers."

"What?"

"That ghost, he's led me several times to those places, but I cannot remove the slab over the well, and I will not go jumping around like a tick in those sewers." The boy wrinkled his nose. "And he has gotten extraordinarily mad with me for ignoring him when he tries to lead me there."

Desmond translated this for the others, and Lucy rubbed her temples. "Great, great! Fucking great! Now we have the Templars, an angry ghost, a little boy, a broken machine, and a man who's losing his mind all stacked against us. Can this situation get any worse?"

"Hey, it's not Desmond's fault he's crazy. We're the ones who stuffed him into the Animus."

Lucy scowled at Rebecca, and Desmond led Emiliano off to the side to talk in whispers.

"How about if I give you a list of books, I will teach you to read? I'll need things in Italian to get you started."

"I can learn English, instead, if that is easier. English presents more opportunities, anyway."

"Well, I'll still need books. Do you know a place you can get teaching books at?"

Emiliano shook his head. "No, I have no idea, but I'm sure we could find some."

Desmond sighed, then scratched his head. "No point in keeping you out longer than necessary. I'll make things myself. You know numbers, right?"

"Yes. Although, I do not know them as well as I should. As a thief, numbers do not mean too much."

Desmond chuckled. "Just like your ancestor."

"You do not know my ancestor. Neither do I. You cannot know."

He ruffled his hair, laughing at Emiliano's scowl. "Well, we'll start in half an hour, okay? Get a notebook and some pencils for us to work with."

Emiliano nodded, and Desmond straightened, turning to Lucy. "Is there anything I can help with?"

Lucy frowned. "Maybe an explanation for how we're supposed to make it out of here alive."

"Look, Lucy, I'm really sorry, okay?"

"'Sorry' is not good enough in this case," Shaun snapped. "Bloody Hell."

Desmond sighed and resigned himself to sitting, useless, as he watched the others work frantically. Emiliano eventually came jogging back over, a pack of sharpened pencils and several notebooks. The assassin smiled.

"All right, let's get started."

He sat Emiliano down on his sleeping bag and thought briefly about how to proceed. As the days passed, he began to enjoy teaching the boy. He would sit at a pile of boxes with a wooden plank over the top, one arm around Emiliano and the lessons he made up pouring onto the papers as the kid learned eagerly. Desmond found himself in a wonderful mood as the days began to pass.

They started out with learning English and how to read Italian. The boy picked it up quickly, and Desmond would grin or laugh whenever he made a serious mistake. Every time, Emiliano would blush, scowling, and cover the words with his hands, saying that Desmond was impossible and that he would never learn anymore ever again, and every time, Desmond would knock their foreheads together and smile softly at him, staring into the green eyes that seemed to pout. He would rub their noses together, and the boy would smile slightly, then the assassin would kiss his forehead and gently move his hands off the page before gesturing for him to retry.

He watched Emiliano quickly learn the languages, and it wasn't long before he could hold a decent conversation with anybody in either tongue. However, math and science didn't seem to be his strong suit. While most kids his age would be learning how to divide with fractions or solving single variable expressions, he was still hung up on simple multiplication and division. He just didn't understand it, and Desmond could feel his heart twist when Emiliano would smack his pencil against the desk and get frustrated with the math, shouting at Desmond about how he didn't need to learn it because he was a thief, and thieves didn't care about prices. Lucy and Shaun would glare at him until the assassin would pull the boy into his arms and calm him down.

He was enjoying teaching Emiliano between the boy's chores. His kid was sent for errands and often ended up buying himself a book or two instead of something on the list, earning him Lucy's ire, in which Emiliano would plug his ears and sit on the Animus, pointedly staring at her until she stopped. Desmond was ecstatic to find Emiliano sitting on the roof of Monteriggioni several times in the wee hours of the morning, a flashlight in hand as he read through whatever book he had bought at a thrift store—or stolen, but Desmond refused to believe it.

On those nights, in which he often had nightmares that woke him up, he would settle beside Emiliano, one arm around his shoulders as he read the next page aloud, and Desmond would correct him. They would read until the sun poked its head over the horizon, and they would go back to the Sanctuary and fall asleep in the blankets and pillows Emiliano was transferring down. Rebecca often slept with two or three of them, nestled in like bird, and even Shaun managed to get to use one.

Desmond helped him polish the armor and finish the cloth portions. He had produced a needle out of seemingly nothing, and once, built a new flashlight for the boy out of spare parts he had seen laying around the hideout. He was disappointed when Rebecca finished repairing Baby and he had to go back in, but he made sure to leave Emiliano with plenty to work on. The days still continued smoothly, but their lessons were constricted to whenever they could get a spare bit of time in, and Desmond often found himself creating lessons for his kid well into the night.

He told Emiliano to ask Shaun if he had any questions, and Emiliano would nod and smile. Desmond would kiss his head and hug him tightly, and his boy would grin and turn to the lessons after knocking their foreheads together, letting a smile pass between them like a secret. Emiliano didn't go to Shaun for help, but after a few weeks of reading through the lessons on his own, he eventually got stuck on something in one of the books Desmond was having him read, so he sucked it up and walked over to the man, who was lounging in his chair. He heard Shaun sigh, irritated, and turn to look at him.

"Yes?" he snapped. "What?"

Emiliano held out the book his reading was in. "Desmond teaches me much, yes? But he is in the Animus, and I cannot figure this word out."

Shaun scowled. "Just what has the dunce made you do this time?" He swiped the book and looked at them. It was _Lord of the Flies_, in English, and he blinked. "He's having you read this?"

"What?"

Shaun frowned. "He's not smart enough to want you to read this. Did you pick this up?"

"No!" Emiliano exclaimed. "No, he thought it and told me to get it. Desmond is smart, yes?"

Shaun scoffed. "That oaf is the farthest thing from smart you can get."

"Oaf?"

"Stupid person."

"Oaf," Emiliano murmured. "No, he is smart. He teaches me how to read and do math. I speak English now, yes? This is my read: I am enjoying it, but I cannot figure this word out. The tricks he has taught me do not make any sensible words."

Shaun sighed and pinched his nose before looking at the word. Emiliano waited patiently as he figured it out, looking at Desmond in the Animus. He looked when Shaun cleared his throat and pronounced the word for him.

"You can't tell me he's teaching you the deeper meaning to this stuff. Tell me, what does this passage signify?"

Emiliano looked where Shaun pointed before he read it quickly and scratched his chin.

"I thought so—"

Emiliano launched into an explanation of the passage, delivering a thorough, well organized (if not shaky from his English) speech delving into many different meanings of the passage. Shaun looked floored by the end of it, and Emiliano smiled innocently.

"I told you: Desmond is smart, no? He teaches me to think like this. Thank you, English pig-dog, for pronouncing that word."

"Desmond is not smart. The man doesn't even have a high school education."

"He is smart. He teaches me well."

"Anyone could teach you well. You're the equivalent of a seventh grader."

"He is smart! Look!"

Emiliano marched off and dug out one of Desmond's notebooks, shoving it into Shaun's hands.

"He is smart! Look through that!"

He walked off without another word and sat at the makeshift desk, pouring over the book. When Desmond woke up, Emiliano was puffing with pride at having finished the chapter on his own, and Desmond gave him a high-five. Shaun marched over, scowling.

"Miles, can I talk to you for a second?"

Desmond raised an eyebrow, but followed him out of the Sanctuary, watching as Shaun began pacing outside of the house, the moon shining brightly on them. He watched the historian pace furiously.

"What is it?"

Shaun stopped abruptly, glaring at him. "Just what are you thinking?"

"What do you mean?"

"Having him read _Lord of the Flies_?"

"Yeah? He enjoys it well enough. I read it when I was thirteen. He takes to languages like a fish to water. Why not have him read it if he's ready for it? So what if he's only thirteen?"

Shaun was staring at him as if he had grown a second head.

"What?"

Shaun shook his head. "Crazy. Blinking crazy is what you are."

Desmond laughed. "Yeah, I know that. Tell me something new."

He looked Shaun over, admiring the way the moonlight fell upon him, and he wanted his notebook to sketch him. The historian crossed his arms, and Desmond ached to draw him, hoping he could remember everything well enough to draw him later.

"Well, I found this courtesy of orphan boy."

He watched as Shaun pulled out his notebook from seemingly nowhere, and his eyes grew wide.

"M-my notebook."

"Yes, Miles, your notebook. Care to explain to me what all of," he flipped through the pages, "this is?"

Desmond swallowed. "Uh…"

Shaun scowled. "I find this hard to believe it came from you. It's as if I were staring at one of Leonardo da Vinci's notebooks."

Desmond smiled shakily. "I'm, uh, copying—"

"Don't give me bullshit, Desmond. I've seen the upgrades for the Animus."

Desmond scratched the back of his head.

"Where did you get these?"

He sighed, folding his arms and looking at the ground, scuffing his foot on the stone. "I made them.

"And this?"

He looked to see it open to the picture he had drawn of Shaun emerging from the showers at one of the houses. They took turns going for showers at various houses in the villa, and Desmond and Shaun often went together. He bit his lip, trying to come up with an explanation.

"Or this?"

It was a picture of the historian sleeping. The one behind it was—

"Or this one?"

—of him working at his computer, and he was illuminated by the soft glow of the computer. Desmond loved those pictures. They were the only times Shaun didn't blast him for one reason or another. He didn't know what to say.

"Well? Is there something you've been meaning to tell us, Desmond?"

"Uh, yeah, I might have a small crush on you."

Shaun pulled back slightly. "N-no, I meant—"

"And I might have a secret talent for drawing. Oh, yeah, and I'm MacGyver incarnate. Or Leonardo's never known ancestor. Something like that. Is that what you were looking for?"

Shaun was staring at him, his jaw slack and eyes wide behind those glasses—which Desmond thought made him look even smarter, and he wasn't going to tell him how much of a fetish he had for men with glasses. After a few minutes, Shaun scowled and drew himself up.

"And you never thought to tell us this?"

Desmond scoffed. "Course I did. But I chose not to. You guys treated me like an idiot, so I went with it."

Shaun scowled. "We could've used your brain, Desmond."

Desmond looked to the side. "Not from what I heard."

He instinctively caught his notebook when Shaun tossed it to him. Desmond rose and turned to start back in. "Look, if we're done here—"

He found himself pinned to the wall, the historian in his personal bubble, giving him a serious stare. "Desmond…"

He leaned in and kissed him, unable to help it. His lips were warm and chapped, and they felt great. He moved to breathe against his ear. "I can recite the _Iliad,_ if you like. Or how about why Pythagorean's Theorem is still a theorem?"

He could feel Shaun shudder, and he took the chance to flip their positions and press against him. He could feel the historian's warmth through his layers of clothing, and he grinned, growling softly as kissed him again, hard and unrelenting.

"Or how about if I fuck you right here and then draw the picture of you looking thoroughly debauched and show you just how sexy you are?"

"D-Desmond, you've got to be kidding—"

"You could've pushed me away when I first kissed you."

"Rebecca or Lucy could come out at any moment."

"So you're not denying you want this?"

He pressed against him harder.

"D-damnit, Desmond."

"How long has it been since you were last fucked up the ass, Shaun?"

"None of your business."

He growled, nipping lightly at his ear. "How long, Shaun? Long enough to make me look good enough?"

Shaun pulled his lip back, digging his nails into Desmond's ribcage. "Tit, you looked appealing ever since I laid eyes on you."

"I thought I caught you checking me out."

He bit down on the area behind Shaun's ear, drawing a gasp from him.

"And n-now that I know just how bloody smart you are—"

"I'm that much more appealing, aren't I?"

He gave him a crushing kiss and then proceeded to fuck him against the wall, completely ignoring when Rebecca came out to get them, and stayed, only to be drug back down by Lucy to the hideout. And later that night, as he lay beside Emiliano on the pile of blankets and sleeping bags, he drew Shaun on an empty page of the notebook, smiling the entire time. Rebecca congratulated them, and Lucy looked away, blushing faintly (but Desmond did catch the smirk on her face), and Emiliano was all ready out cold, curled in the bedding. Shaun moved his things over and fell asleep on his other side. Desmond could feel himself nodding off, and he set the notebook down across his chest, pen and pencil in hand, and fell asleep.

The next morning, he woke to an empty bed, and the sound of Shaun murmuring to Rebecca. He groaned as he stretched, and the voices fell silent. He sat up, looking around. Rebecca was working on Baby, Shaun next to her holding his notebook, and Lucy was flipping through a different one of his notebooks. They had all paused and looked at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Yo, Des, what the Hell does this mean? We can't get a part like this."

He furrowed his brow, not quite registering that she referred to his notebook.

"Huh?"

"Desmond," Lucy began, "these are brilliant. You're an incredible artist. Why didn't you tell us?"

He blinked. "Huh? W-wait! Where did you find those?"

"Your little demon monkey showed us," Shaun muttered.

Emiliano laughed, peeling an orange as he sat in Shaun's chair. He waved at Desmond.

"I told them you were smart, yes?"

Desmond scowled, and he smirked evilly.

"I showed them how well you do."

He switched to Italian. "I thought I told you I didn't want them to know."

"I told them anyway."

"Emiliano!"

His boy grinned like a shit. "So? Do you think I care?"

Desmond scowled, and he beamed. He looked at Rebecca and crawled over, looking at the diagram. "Which part, 'Becca?"

"This one."

She pointed, and he nodded. "I can build it for you."

"You sure, hot stuff?"

"I'm positive."

"Good. Get to work, Des."

He sighed.

"Oh, and sorry—"

"Don't apologize," Shaun spat. "The prat never told us. He's just as good at being an idiot."

"Shaun!" Lucy said. "You know, for being fucked so hard last night, you're still being a dick."

Shaun turned bright red. "Sh-shut up, Lucy!"

Desmond laughed. "Naw, don't come down hard on him. He's got a point."

Lucy frowned. "That doesn't excuse him."

"Perhaps it would help if I didn't have to sit on this ridiculously hard stone."

"Here!" Emiliano said, fetching him a pillow and setting it down. "Use this."

Desmond had gathered various items and was working on creating the necessary part.

"Dude," Rebecca began as she clipped a wire, "this is so gonna blow Abstergo's Animus out of the water."

"You need to make this seat more comfortable."

She moved out of the way as Emiliano chucked a piece of orange peel at her head.

"Yeah, well, I'll leave design to you, bub. Just so long as you don't fuck with Baby's innards."

Emiliano smirked, offering her a piece of orange. She took it while she looked at the notebook page, chewing.

"So you weren't planning on ever telling us?"

Desmond looked at Lucy. "No. You seemed fine without me, and I did pitch in occasionally behind the scenes."

"I saw that picture you drew last night," Shaun murmured.

Desmond bit his lip.

"I saw your pictures of me from the notebooks," Lucy said, opening to one of her in her bra, doing her hair. "You make me look flattering covered in filth."

Desmond chuckled. "You always look that beautiful."

She gave him a "don't-be-an-idiot" look, but she was smiling. Silence fell over the group as they worked, and eventually, Emiliano hopped to do his work Desmond had planned for him. Desmond rose and walked over, working on the part as he walked Emiliano through long division. Halfway through (when he noticed Emiliano was getting extremely frustrated) he stopped and told him to go lunch. His boy stalked off, grumbling, but took the money and returned with enough food for all five of them.


	3. Chapter 3

Desmond had finished the piece as Emiliano handed out the food, and they went back to work until Emiliano had gotten the hang of long division and Baby was complete. It was later that night when all was said and done, and they were lounging as Rebecca worked on yet another upgrade he had thought up. She was having a field day with it ("Finally, a chance to outdo Abstergo even more!").

"Desmond," Lucy began, "you haven't been complaining about the Bleeding Effect as much anymore."

Desmond was lying on the sleeping bags and blankets, working on his unfinished drawing of Shaun, Emiliano beside him reading something he had found.

"Well, I haven't exactly had time to think about between the Animus and teaching him."

"And doodling those ridiculous pictures of yours," Shaun hissed.

"Come on, Shaun, or are you just jealous they look better than you really do?"

"Oh, no, those are accurate pictures, Desmond. It's these horrid things you claim are 'diagrams' that I'm concerned about."

Rebecca grunted for him to turn the page, and Shaun obliged her. "What are you going to do while you're out of the Animus, sketch some more like a stalker?"

"Actually, I might go with Emiliano to check out that well."

"Huh?"

He turned to look at his boy, and he smiled at him. "You said Ezio often leads you there. Wanna go? It's night time."

Emiliano put his book down and hopped up. "Sure! Let's go!"

He was out of the Sanctuary before he could say anything else. Desmond rose, and Lucy stopped him at the entrance.

"Take Shaun with you. I'm going to stay here and help Rebecca."

"What!" Shaun yelped. "I think not!"

"Go with them."

Shaun sighed as he holstered his gun and rose. "Fine."

"Go spend quality time with your boyfriend and his kid."

Desmond grinned and wrapped an arm around his shoulders as they walked to the well, where both Ezio and Emiliano were waiting. He excused himself briefly, ran down and grabbed Mario's sword from where he had stashed it, admiring the assassin's symbol carved into the hilt. There was no way he'd use Altair's sword if it had potential to get ruined. He tucked the sheath into his belt and returned to the well. It was hard to open, but eventually, they wrangled it open and cast aside the concrete. Emiliano pulled out a shred of blanket for each of them and started down the well. Shaun griped the entire way down, and Emiliano was already leaping from ledge to ledge, following Ezio's ghost as Desmond helped Shaun down.

"You're bloody kidding me. I can't do that!"

"Come on, Shaun, you can."

It was damp; it was dark, and it was still smelly despite the kerchief. He led Shaun from ledge to ledge until they reached the halfway mark. Emiliano was feeling the wall as Ezio looked at it impatiently. Eventually, Emiliano yelped and staggered forward as part of the wall pushed in, and blue lines spread out from the indent. Desmond stepped back slightly, and Ezio tapped his foot impatiently as the wall opened. He moved inside, and Emiliano looked around briefly, the blue still glowing before he grabbed Desmond's hand and drug him and Shaun in. The walls closed around them.

"Fuck," Shaun said.

The lights went off, and Ezio disappeared as letters started glowing on the next wall.

"Huh?" Emiliano said. "What language is this?"

Desmond stepped up. "What?"

"Look—the Eye of Horus," Shaun murmured. "This is the same thing we saw from the Apple when you stabbed Lucy."

Desmond winced at the memory, but looked at the code. There seemed to be a pattern. "You know I have nightmares about that."

Shaun squeezed his hand affectionately before looking at the wall. "There must be a pattern. It doesn't look like we're going anywhere until we do."

Desmond sighed, and they started working. He and Shaun poured over the symbols, trying different letter patterns, different sound patterns. Nothing seemed to work as time crawled by. Emiliano nestled into Desmond's side, and Shaun pressed against Emiliano's side, against Desmond, as they tried to keep warmth between them in the damp and chilly air. Eventually, Shaun figured out that the different symbols must be different words, not letters, and it all clicked like the Chinese he had seen in Sixteen's blood.

"I've got it," he announced.

"Well? Read it!" Shaun hissed. "It's damp and cold. I want out."

He was silent for a bit as he finished translating it in his mind. "'So be it. Though I am not high, my magic branches sweep the sky.'"

"What?" Emiliano asked.

"It's a riddle?" Shaun muttered. "Bloody Hell—we're trapped in here, with a foreign language keeping us from getting out of here, and this stupid riddle—"

"A willow," Desmond said.

"What?"

"'So be it,' is talking about the will. 'Not high' is low. The only tree that has magic branches is a 'willow.'" He placed a hand on the wall and pushed. "It's a willow."

The wall lit up brilliantly, and he fell through. Shaun laughed when he fell, and Emiliano skipped ahead when more symbols lit up on the next wall.

"Here's another, Desmond!"

Shaun walked up behind him, drawing the kid close. Emiliano hugged him willingly. Desmond growled as he jogged up. It was certainly colder in here. These rooms must be deeper than he thought.

"Get going, git," Shaun said.

Desmond could've sworn he heard Shaun's teeth starting to chatter. He stepped close to them and studied the symbols. Damn, it was getting colder. It was a little harder to concentrate on the symbols this time, but he knew he had to. It probably would've helped if they were an entirely new set of symbols to figure out. Slowly, he pieced it together in the cold room, slugging through.

"The meadow's wealth I trade for gold, yet wisdom in my fruit I hold."

"Okay, Leonardo, get solving," Shaun hissed, stepping closer to him.

"To 'trade for gold' is to sell. But the meadow's wealth? That could be wheat, barley, soy crops…"

"Hay!" Emiliano said. "Then your answer would be 'hay-sell'—'hazel!'"

Shaun nodded. "Go for it, kid."

"Hazel!" he shouted, but the door didn't open.

Desmond growled and set his hand on it, pushing slightly.

"Hazel!" Emiliano shouted again, and the doors flashed open.

Shaun spooked when they heard something clatter to the ground, and they saw a pile of bones. They stepped through and flinched when the gate closed again, and they heard the bones crunch in the closing. The symbols glowed again, and Desmond translated quickly, shivering. It was like churning through a swamp as he stood there and stared at the glowing symbols, trying desperately to hurry.

"What force and strength cannot get through, I with a gentle touch can do—"

He exhaled shakily, rubbing his arms. It was much colder in here.

"—and many in a street would stand, were I not a friend at hand."

There was a brief silence as they all shuffled closer.

"A key," Shaun said, pushing on the wall. A small, thin keyhole lit up. "Bloody cor. What the Hell?"

Desmond stared at it. "We need the key—we need the key? What the fuck?" He was pissed off. "We try to figure out what Ezio needed, and we're led in to our deaths!"

"I told you that Goddamn shithead was up to no good!" Shaun shouted back, even though they were right next to each other to share heat. "But you just had to suggest following him!"

"Shut up, you fucker! I thought I was doing my kid favors helping him get rid of this stupid ghost!"

"So it's your fault, hm?" Shaun hissed at Emiliano.

"Leave him out of this, you ass!" Desmond snarled. "He did nothing! He's only twelve!"

"He's a thief and a liar!"

He yelped when his arm was forced forward, and he heard the hidden blade unsheathe from the contraption. It clanged against the stone, and Desmond blinked.

"Wait… The key is the blade?"

He slipped it in the crack and twisted his wrist, and the gate-doors clicked, lighting up to reveal an indent of the assassin's symbol. Shaun groaned miserably, leaning against the stone and sinking to the ground.

"We'll never get out of this place!" he moaned, and Desmond kicked him. "Ouch! You prat!"

Emiliano was crying against Desmond's side. The assassin glared at his lover, then to the child, and Shaun's eyes grew wide.

"I'm sorry, Desmond. I didn't know what was back here. I'm sorry I let you guys into this, and now we're going to die of cold and starvation and suffocation, and I'm so sorry!"

The boy was sobbing, muttering apologies of every kind. Desmond kept an arm around him, trying to get him to shush, trying to tell him it wasn't his fault, but the kid wrapped his arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. He cried into his hoodie, and Shaun got up and stood on his knees, placing a hand on his back.

"Emiliano, this is not your fault. You're only twelve. If anything, we should blame Desmond because of his ridiculousness."

Desmond glared, and Shaun ignored him.

"You see, Emiliano, if he were anything like his ancestors, he would've known that there was something fishy down here, and instead of climbing down here and sacrificing you, he would've ventured in alone. He loves you, Emiliano, and he's not going to let you die down here. This man is too stubborn, too smart, and too incredibly stupid to die. He's like a cockroach, you know. They just don't die. And, since you're his kid, there's no way you're going to die either."

"So I'm a cockro—"

"No, he adopted you," Shaun quickly corrected, "but his asinine stubbornness has rubbed off on you, undoubtedly. He's not going to let you die. Neither of us are going to let you die, and we don't regret coming down here, because you're important to us, and if it gets that damn bastard of a manwhore to leave you alone, then this will be worth every second."

Emiliano was staring at him, his eyes red and puffy from crying, the edge of his mask wet. Shaun untied his mask, wincing at the terrible smell, and offered it.

"Now blow your nose, and we'll put Desmond to work."

"W-what?"

As Emiliano blew his nose, Shaun smiled softly. "We're going to have him carve for us an assassin's symbol."

Desmond shouted, "That's ridiculous—"

"You're up, MacGyver. Don't let your boyfriend and you child die down here."

Desmond growled, looking around for something to carve with, but aside from the glow of the riddle, the keyhole, and the assassin's sign, he couldn't see much. He rose and started feeling his way around. The walls were cold and clammy, and the farther he walked from the blue glow, the more the ground seemed to come apart, until he heard a crack and he slipped, falling into a pile of something. As he groped for a hold, he realized he was in a pile of bones. He almost wanted to puke. He scrambled up and brushed his leg furiously, when something bumped his leg. He tried to brush it away, but when it wouldn't, he presumed it wasn't bone. Then it hit him.

His sword.

Wait a second.

Mario's sword.

With the assassin's symbol.

He marched over and pulled the blade out.

"Why the Hell do you have a sword with you?" Shaun shrieked.

"I grabbed it just in case."

The hilt was much too small for the symbol, but the bright flash of blue and rumble that followed indicated a good sign. Shaun heaved a sigh of relief, and Desmond pulled them through, the temperature dropping another couple of degrees. This room was pitch black, and he extended his arms to feel around, only to be met by a wall.

"Damn… I think we're trapped," Shaun muttered. "Can you feel anything other than wall?"

"I feel you two. You're warm."

Desmond gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to die here. In a vain last attempt, he flicked on his Eagle Vision and turned to examine the walls. There, several feet above any normal human's reach, was a glowing gold projection, hardly big enough that they would've noticed even with light.

"Shaun, I'm going to need you stand on my back, and lift Emiliano onto your shoulders."

"What?" Shaun yelped.

"There's a ledge I'm going to direct Emiliano's hand to, and it's too far away otherwise. Just help me out, okay? At least you don't have to have some two hundred plus pounds standing on your back."

They squirmed around, and eventually, Emiliano had monkeyed onto Shaun's shoulders, and Desmond was on his hands and knees, regretting telling Shaun to stand on his back because fuck he was heavy, and his spine wasn't enjoying that at all, but he was giving Emiliano directions anyway through clenched teeth, and fuck did Shaun's toes shitting hurt when he dug them into his back to give Emiliano just a little more reach, and he managed to grab the rock and pull it out—and they were falling. Emiliano was screaming as Desmond pulled him close, twisting around and trying to gather his surroundings. He pressed the boy against him and groped blindly for Shaun's wrist, tugging him closer.

"Damnit, Desmond!" Shaun shouted, and he snarled.

At least they were both falling on their backs. And shit, it was getting colder. He grunted when they landed in a soft pile of something. Emiliano was still clinging to him, trembling, and Desmond realize it was a large pile of cloth. Without a second thought, he tugged Shaun closer, threw the clothes over them, and huddled underneath, trying to work warmth into their bodies again.

"D-d-damnit," Shaun hissed, his teeth chattering. "This-s-s-s is-s f-f-fucking Hell."

"Sh-shut up-p and c-c-cuddle us-s-s," Desmond growled, Emiliano pressed securely between them.

"H-how c-can I—"

Desmond pulled his mask down and pressed their lips together over the boy's head as he twined their legs together. Fuck, it was cold, and that kiss felt wonderful. He kept kissing him until the small compartment felt slightly warmer, and he broke apart from him, panting, Emiliano still snuggled securely between them. There was silence after that, and Desmond found himself drifting off to sleep.

He woke incredibly warm, nested in the blankets with his lover in front of him and his kid sandwiched in between them. They, too, were asleep, although it didn't look restful at all. At least they were warm. Desmond lay still until Shaun stirred, his eyes opening wearily.

"Hey. I'm gonna climb out and look around, okay?"

Shaun nodded, pulling Emiliano close as Desmond slowly wormed his way out of the pile of cloth. Shit, did he ever regret it as he rubbed his arms, flicking on his Eagle Vision and looking around. There was a glowing object farther away, and only one nearby. He staggered over it to see a piece of flint and a stone sitting there over a groove filled with an oily substance. Without a second thought, he forced his hands to grab the stones and begin striking them together. It was fucking cold down here, and he was trembling like Japan during an earthquake.

After several minutes, he heard Shaun's voice. "Do you need me to come out there?"

"N-n-n-n-n-no. St-st-st-sta-stay w-w-w-warm-m-m."

There—a spark—a flicker—a ray of hope—a splash into the oil—an explosion—and suddenly there was fire, and it was travelling far away. He was vaguely reminded of that movie—that treasure movie—but there was no treasure. It took him a moment to realize it was bones. Stone caskets and statues and bones and preserved bodies lined the corridor. Huge bonfires went up in intervals, burning slowly in thickly packed piles of something. And at the far end was a lever, with a platform that looked like it went up.

"Desmond?"

He could hear Shaun shift inside the pile of clothes, and he looked back at the fire below his fingers. It was going out, and he staggered to the nearest corner and stood in front of one of the bonfires, noticing the little river of oil that lead to it.

"H-h-here," he stuttered, holding his hands out. "Warm-warmth."

Shaun crawled out, and Desmond saw him flinch at both the light and the still chilly atmosphere. He walked over quickly.

"How are these burning?" Shaun said. "There's no air—"

"Catacombs. We're in my ancestors' catacombs. Apparently, either Maria or Claudia rebuilt Monteriggioni, and it fell to ruin not too long ago. There's what looks like a way out at the other end."

"Incredible," Shaun whispered, stepping closer to Desmond.

Desmond pressed against his side as he warmed in front of the fire.

"Do we wake Emiliano?"

That was soon answered with a whimper and a panicked call for both of them. Desmond hollered back, and soon, he had his kid gripping him tightly.

"A-are we almost done in here?"

Shaun rubbed his back gently. "Almost, kiddo. The exit's in sight."

"Before we leave," Desmond whispered, "I need to check out what was glowing."

They were silent a while longer before Desmond turned and started walking off, looking at the statues. His Eagle Vision was on, and he gazed at the rapidly growing glowing spots. Finally, he stopped in front of the glowing thing, and realized he was at the end of the catacombs. He flicked off his Eagle Vision and looked behind him to see Shaun stop briefly to look at each of the statues. He turned back to the glowing statue and froze, a scream threatening to tear from his throat. The ghost of Ezio sat on the opened marble casket, and Desmond wanted to cry at the life-size statue before him.

It was of himself. And he was standing, his legs slightly apart and both hands over the hilt of a sword—the Sword—and a cloak—the Shroud—draped across its shoulders. It was staring straight ahead seriously, and it looked almost real. It had an air of purpose around it.

"That's creepy, love."

Desmond swallowed and turned stiffly to look at Shaun, who was examining it closely.

"Bloody Hell, that looks just like you. Who carved it?"

Ezio scowled, and Shaun jumped when he noticed the ghost.

"Well, looks like you've got your… wait a second, are those Pieces of Eden?"

Desmond forced himself to look at the haunting statue, then reached out and touched the Sword as if it would eat him. It glowed brilliantly, and Desmond jerked back at the feel of power that flooded him.

"I thought the Templars had it."

Ezio clattered noisily, and Desmond carefully extracted the Sword.

"And I thought the Templars had the Shroud."

"There could be more than one. There are fifty pieces."

Desmond stood there, gazing at the life-like statue and inwardly cringing. There was something super creepy in knowing that everyone in the past knew who he was courtesy of some long-dead chick with a fetish for technology. Oh, and building him a grave before he was even thought of was also kinda freaky. Shit it all to Hell, this entire thing was just plain wrong. Fuck, it looked so eerily like him before he had stubble he was glad he had it now. The Sword seemed to pulse with power, and Desmond grimaced again.

"You should draw the rest of this."

He turned to see Shaun gesture to the rest of the catacombs.

"There's even a statue of Ezio with a filled grave. I take it he didn't rot away in Constantinople."

He would draw it, the pictures seared into his memory like a brand. There was no way he'd forget this soon.

"Can we go, Desmond?"

He glanced at his kid, reaching out and wrapping a hand around his shoulders. "Y-yeah."

He started heading for the exit, and froze when he felt something drape across his shoulders. It was the Shroud. The one that had been on his statue, which was near his grave, and fuck it all that was fucking creepy. He pushed Shaun onto the platform, flinching when he saw Ezio waving at him, and pushed the lever in. The platform jerked, and they were being raised to the surface again. He felt Shaun's hand on his shoulders, and turned to look at him, spooked.

"You're not dead yet, mate."

His grip tightened on Emiliano's shoulders.

"I'd consider it a tremendous honor to have a grave like that."

"I don't want to die yet," Desmond whispered as the platform stopped, and they were met with a tunnel.

He forced himself to start walking, the Sword in his hands and the Shroud on his shoulders.

"You're not going to die for a long time with the Shroud and the Sword. A… Killer combination, if I do say so myself."

Desmond scowled at his smirk, then groaned pitifully. "Why did I have to follow him."

"Thank God you have a brain about you," Shaun said, "otherwise we'd be freezing to death in those chambers."

"We almost did."

There was silence between the three of them as they kept walking. Each man had a hand on Emiliano, their footsteps almost muffled by the wet dirt beneath their feet.

"You know," Shaun began again, "Leonardo da Vinci was born twenty years after Joan of Arc died."

"Okay?" Emiliano said.

"You don't think Ezio followed the Templars to Constantinople to retrieve the Sword—do you?"

Desmond pursed his lips. "That could be it. I remember hearing about the Sword in those memories, and we never did finish them before I woke up."

"That's what I thought."

They were silent a time more before the ran into a wall.

"Dead fucking end."

"No," Desmond said, "there's always a way out. Let's try up. It worked last time."

"And we ended falling down," Shaun deadpanned.

Desmond groped blindly, not surprised when he felt a wall perfect for climbing.

"All right, monkey boy, start climbing."

Emiliano started climbing up. Desmond turned to Shaun, unable to see him in the darkness. He was silent for a while before he sighed.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"What?"

"I just…"

Shaun sighed, felt up to grab his chin, and pulled him in for a quick kiss. "Head up, Miles. Now that we know you can crack those codes easily—which we should've been able to tell from the rate you flew through Sixteen's glitches—and now that we know just how smart you are, things are going to get easier."

"Uh… Desmond?"

He looked up the hole, only to be met with darkness. "Yeah?"

"There's something blocking the exit."

Desmond sighed and began climbing up the walls as Emiliano climbed down. "Do I have to do everything?"

Shaun hollered up the darkened hole, "Of course, mate. You've got a lot to make up for since you lied to us for so long."

"Didn't I just prove myself back in the catacombs?"

It was a large, stone slab. He'd have to move it while dangling precariously from the sides of the holes.

"No, consider that the tip of your retribution."

He scowled when he heard both Emiliano and Shaun laugh. He finally managed to push the stone away, and climbed up. He was in a graveyard, several miles outside of Monteriggioni. As a matter of fact, he couldn't even see it anymore. And he was lost as shitting fucking Hell's bitch.

He wasn't going to mention when he said that last line out loud, but he was sure Shaun heard him when he heard the voice coming up the hole.

"Desmond? What's wrong—oh, God, don't tell me we're surrounded by Templars."

"That might actually be a little bit more preferable right now."

"What?"

He waited patiently until both Shaun and Emiliano were out.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"Hm…"

"What's wrong?" Emiliano asked, pushing the stone inch-by-inch back over the passage.

"We're lost."

"No, we're not. This is where my mom's buried."

Desmond blinked. "You can get us back home?"

"Yeah. Follow me!"

Desmond looked at Shaun briefly in the moonlight. It seemed like it hadn't changed at all. They took off after Emiliano, who vaulted over the fencing and started running toward somewhere. Sure enough, Monteriggioni loomed in the distance shortly after, and Desmond slowed as Emiliano got winded. Shaun started panting beside him as they slowed.

"Damnit, you pillock," Shaun growled at him.

"What?" Emiliano looked slightly confused.

"No, Desmond. If he wasn't so smart, I'd have kicked his ass from here to China by now."

Desmond grinned. "Aw, babe—"

"Don't call me that!"

"—you're just upset because you get a boner for smart men."

"No," Shaun said, tazering him in the side with his hand, "I get a boner for good-looking men. Intelligence just happens to be one of my kinks."

"Kinks?"

"Well, yes, Desmond," Shaun said in a matter of fact tone as he drew himself up and pushed his glasses up his nose.

Desmond wondered how they were even on still. The man was incredible. And filthy—they were all disgusting. Emiliano scowled.

"I don't want to hear what turns you on," the kid growled. "I'm not Desmond, and I think you'd look ugly without clothes on, so don't tell me about what gets you going."

"What? Why you little—Hey!"

Shaun was chasing after Emiliano, ready to tackle him, and Desmond started chasing after both of them as they sprinted back, up over the walls and into the Sanctuary. Lucy was thoroughly shocked to see them again, relieved and overwhelmed they hadn't been captured by Templars. She asked what happened and where the Sword and the Shroud had come from, and Emiliano regaled it all to her and Rebecca, and Desmond and Shaun shared a look—neither one of them remembered it quite that way, but they let him have the tale as they lay on the sleeping bags and pillows, completely out of breath and bone weary. They politely declined the hugs, ready to sleep, and although Shaun fussed, he eventually fell asleep on Desmond's chest as he watched him draw the statue and the Pieces of Eden.

The Shroud was draped over both of them as Emiliano wolfed down a meal Rebecca made. And Desmond found himself drifting off despite the glorious smells of food. Apparently, they had been gone for a day.

"And now that you're back, Des," Rebecca said, "you can build for me the necessary part for this upgrade! Awesome!"

But Desmond never heard her, fast asleep with the Sword tucked partly underneath him and the Shroud across him and Shaun as he tightened his hold on his lover, the half drawn picture of the historian lecturing Emiliano in front of Ezio's statue now forgotten as he slept.


End file.
